Guilticent
by Sarah1281
Summary: Stan's pretty sure that Ford will be grateful for this. He spent thirty years trying to save him, after all. But what if he's not? Ford always was a little weird about things like ignoring apocalypse warnings. Maybe it'd be better if he wasn't there when Ford came out. Maybe he should just deny everything. After all, Ford might be suspicious but he couldn't prove a thing.


Stan had initially been planning on waiting downstairs next to the portal when he finally brought Ford home. Honestly, he didn't think there was anything he had ever wanted more in his whole life. Certainly nothing he had ever wanted longer.

It had been thirty years, after all, and ever since he had caught a glimpse of the third journal in his great-nephew's hands he had hardly been able to wait until he got the portal working. Strange how he had no choice but to wait and yet it was still difficult.

And then there was Ford himself. Surely after all this time he couldn't still be holding grudges. Surely after thirty years he'd want someone familiar nearby so he didn't return to the land of the living all alone.

So that had been the plan.

And yet.

And yet there had been a _lot_ of warnings in those journals. And yet, while it was true the sound of Stanford screaming for help still haunted his dreams, maybe Ford hadn't wanted him to ignore those warnings. Maybe he hadn't wanted him to risk the whole world. Maybe he had wanted him to save him before he had been sucked in.

Well.

He had failed there, certainly, and how could he leave it at that? Some days he still looked at what had happened and couldn't even believe it. It didn't really matter what Stanford wanted or might have once wanted, though. He wasn't there and Stan couldn't know. He'd save him anyway. How could he do anything less?

So, just in case Stanford couldn't muster up some proper gratitude for a life spent rescuing him, Stan was just really not in the mood to get yelled at for his greatest achievement. Yes this was dangerous but once Ford was back and the world was still standing, why harp on what didn't happen?

He couldn't imagine any way it would make sense for Stanford to respond that way but, then again, it still made no sense that he had once begged Stan to come, tried to send him away without so much as a 'how's it going', and brought up their broken childhood dream to do it. Was he really going to be more of a normal person after thirty years in another dimension?

He closed down the Shack and sent Mabel and Dipper off for ice cream. Hopefully they'd stay out of the way until things were settled. Dipper, God help him, was probably going to stalk his precious author for the rest of forever.

So it was for the best, it really was. But just the same it was so hard to wait, trying his best to watch Duck-tective reruns and to ignore the gravity anomalies that kept sending him floating. It was a good thing he'd stopped playing dumb with Dipper or he'd have lost all that kid's respect. Chances were he and Mabel would be having some _words_ with him about that whole hiding a secret twin brother thing.

He'd put on some pants and a real shirt but that was the only concession he was making for Ford's return. He had done the impossible, taught himself all his brother's nerdy things, and brought him back. He didn't need to show off.

Despite what he had been telling himself all afternoon, despite what that computer had told him, Stan still jumped when he heard footsteps on the steps. He knew who it was, who it _had_ to be. But there was no point in doing this if he wasn't going to do it properly. He switched off the TV and picked up his bat.

He wasn't actually going to whack his brother in the head. That would just _ensure_ they ended up fighting.

It didn't matter anyway. The door opened and Stan dropped the bat the moment Ford stepped through it.

Of course it was Ford. He knew his brother like he knew his own name. Thirty years and wasn't it just typical that Ford had aged better than him and looked like some kind of badass but it was definitely him, peering around the room with suspicion. His eyes locked on Stan.

"Ford," Stan breathed, not even needing to fake it. "Ford! I can't even…I… _Ford_."

He wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around his brother but something told him that would probably not go over well. Maybe later. He had done the impossible and he was getting at least one hug out of it.

Stanford, as always, was somewhat less sentimental. But then, who knew how long he had stood in the basement alone, composing himself, before looking for him? "Yes, yes. I'm here, Stanley. That was an insanely risky move, restarting the portal."

"Well, yeah, your journal had a bunch of really cryptic warnings, most of them in invisible ink which I didn't even think to look for until like two weeks ago, so that makes sense," Stan said, nodding.

Ford clenched his fists and Stan picked up his bat, wondering for a moment if Ford might hit him. "Is that all?"

"Is what all? I'm agreeing with you."

"Then why did you restart it?" Ford demanded. "Do you just not care if you destroy the world?"

That hadn't been in, not really. He had no interest in dying at this point in his life and even less in getting those kids killed. He guessed he just hadn't been able to really believe that reactivating the portal could cause the end of days.

And it clearly hadn't.

"What? Where does me destroying the world come in?"

"You risked the entire world!" Ford shouted.

Stan shook his head, suddenly glad he had this deniability. "I didn't."

Ford looked like he was debating with himself. He took out what looked like some sort of space snow globe. He glared pointedly at Stan.

"Nice, uh, souvenir," Stan offered lamely after Ford gave no indication that he was going to continue.

Ford scowled at him. "It's not a souvenir!"

"Then what is it?"

"It's a rift in the universe," Ford snapped.

"Like…a tear in the universe," Stan said, just to make sure he was understanding it right.

"This is a literal tear in the universe that will eventually spread and allow an unimaginable evil to come into our world and destroy it."

Stan had to ask the obvious question. "So, uh, why do you have that in a snow globe?"

"It's not a _snow globe_ ," Ford insisted. "It's a containment device. It may resemble a snow globe but it's a little more durable than those used to be. I need it to be transparent so I can see its progress and I need it portable just in case. As for why I have a rift at all, that's entirely your fault."

"Me?" Stan asked, automatically indignant. "What did I do? Or, wait, is this because I accidentally knocked you into the portal?"

"No. Well, yes. But what I mean is that while we were lucky enough that you didn't immediately destroy the world, I wrote those warnings for a reason. _You_ created this rift when you brought me back!"

Oh. So at some point there was likely to be an apocalypse and it was all because of him. Good thing he'd been stocking up.

He wondered if he should regret bringing Ford back. He knew he never would and not just because it had been _his_ fault he had been lost. And he still couldn't quite accept that this was the end of the world. Maybe he just lacked imagination.

"But…I didn't restart your portal," he protested. "Is that what happened? Is that why you're back?"

Ford gave him an extremely unimpressed look. "Are you seriously going to stand there and pretend you didn't do this?"

"Who's pretending? I had nothing to do with it."

"Really."

"Yes, really," Stan said. "Are you going to stand there and tell me I must know how to rebuild some interdimensional portal? What am I, a rocket scientist?"

"It's actually not rocket science," Ford told him.

"See? I don't even know that much."

Stan saw the doubt enter Ford's eyes. It was both gratifying and a little worrying. He didn't want Ford to go about blaming him but, on the other hand, did his brother really have to find it so difficult to believe that Stan had gotten it to work? Sure he wasn't the brightest bulb but he was motivated and creative and it had taken him thirty years. If he could have found the journals earlier, it probably only would have taken him two or three years.

"What are you suggesting?" Ford demanded. "Who could have possibly come down to the basement – I'm going to need the code for the vending machine – and gotten the portal working again? Who would know I was there and want to save me and where did they go? Occam's razor states that that person was you and now you're lying about it for some reason."

'For some reason.' Ford should know exactly why. Of course, it if had turned out that Ford was grateful like a normal person might be, it would have burned him not to be able to accept the credit but that clearly had not happened. He was a grown man who had just done a good – no, amazing – thing and he would not be lectured.

"I don't know what that is but does your fancy razor really apply to Gravity Falls?" He did, in fact, understand Occam's razor but it had never helped him bring Ford home and he did live in Gravity Falls so he'd never had much use for it.

"Well…" Ford trailed off. "Say I believe you. Say you weren't the one to cause this."

Stan nodded. "Excellent."

"That leaves me with two questions then. If it wasn't you then who? Didn't you hide the journal?"

"Not…exactly." At Ford's look, he hurriedly continued, "I mean, I wanted to bring you back! Of course I did! But this kind of thing is so far beyond me and I only had half of the directions. Maybe even less than that."

"Stanley, I asked you to do one thing!"

"Well, I already fucked up by losing you to the portal," Stan said, forcing his expression to stay neutral. He did always hate to be a disappointment. "What difference did that really make?"

"If you had just done as I asked, which you know you owed me after what you did," Ford began seriously. Stan wondered if he was talking about the portal or that fucking perpetual motion machine. "None of this would have ever happened."

Well he wasn't wrong there.

"Ford, I know you've been back for, what, fifteen minutes," Stan said. "I know you haven't gone outside or met the new additions to this family or even begun to get used to begin back. We're so busy having this conversation we haven't gotten a chance to just be together for the first time in forty fucking years. Maybe this isn't fair to ask. But do you regret being brought back?"

Ford had a strange look on his face during Stan's speech. "It wasn't worth it. I had resigned myself to being trapped a long time ago. Me coming back isn't worth the price."

"Yeah, that's great," Stan said, barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes lest Ford think he hadn't taken his warnings seriously. "But it's not what I asked and you know it."

Ford looked down. "I've only just got back. And the fact that this never should have happened cannot simply be ignored."

"And now you've avoiding the question," Stan said. "Come on, pointdexter."

"I didn't hate every second in the portal," Ford said slowly.

"We are inching closer to an answer but we have not yet arrived."

Ford rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course I'm glad to be back. Only a brief exposure to that world drove a friend mad. And I never belonged there. There might not be…thirty years is a long time. It's like the difference between the world we were born into and the world I left behind. I'm sure it's changed beyond my wildest dreams. I don't know how much of my life there is to reclaim but I want to reclaim it."

Stan shifted uncomfortably. Ford would need to reclaim his identity (and thirty years of crimes and cons and new friends and family relations) from him, not from the void as he no doubt assumed. Stan hadn't quite managed to impress upon him just how bad his situation was before the whole portal clusterfuck. "Yeah. That makes sense."

"I am glad to be back," Ford repeated. "But I can't be glad to have been brought back. I don't know if that makes sense but I'm not selfish enough to want my salvation to come at the cost of this whole world. And, in the end, I won't be better off to be here when the world burns. So maybe it's not what you were expecting but I can't thank you for what you've done."

And the thing was, he did understand that. And the thing was, Ford wasn't wrong. What did it say about him that he'd known all that and done it anyway? That he didn't regret it and couldn't even begin to imagine regretting it? Well, he never was the hero type. Looked like Ford was.

"But I didn't save you," Stan said quietly. "I wish I had but…I tried. You know I tried. And I failed."

Ford was quiet for a moment. "I can't very well blame you for that when the portal is so far beyond your realm of understanding and the journals were hidden. I wouldn't have wanted you to succeed."

Stan made a noncommittal sound.

"But the idea that it wasn't you…the implications…that is _terrifying_ ," Ford said, a worried look appearing on his face.

"Why?" Stan asked. "What's done is done, though I guess I don't like the thought that someone was in the basement without me knowing about it. I had a code and everything!"

"It's a question of intent," Ford said. "I know why you know about the portal. I know why you would want to bring me back. How would a third party know about any of this? Why would they want to restart the portal? I can't imagine they'd even know about me, let alone want to help. I can only think of one probable conclusion here and it's not a good one."

Stan waited but Ford appeared to be done. "Well? Out with it."

Ford looked away.

"Oh, come on. You already told me how the world's probably going to end if that rift that just got created breaks," Stan pointed out. "You can't just bring up some sinister conspiracy and not tell me. And, really if you don't tell me then who? People you didn't think you could trust thirty years ago?"

"I couldn't trust _you_ thirty years ago."

That stung.

But it was true, wasn't it? He hadn't meant to, he never _really_ meant to hurt Ford, but he had anyone done more to destroy his brother's life?

"I'd like to think I learned a thing or two about self-control and consequences since then," Stan said evenly. "But the point still stands."

Ford sighed. "You may be right. Have you ever heard of an entity called Bill?"

Stan thought back. "Entity not person? I think I heard of something like that but I was a little busy being thrown out – we got that sorted out, don't worry – so I didn't really follow up with that. He a friend of yours?"

Ford's eyes flashed. "No."

"Okay then. Uh, what is he?"

"Did you notice any of the triangle images around Gravity Falls?"

Stan snorted. "Uh, yeah. Around town, sure, but in your house, too. I figured it was some weird triangle cult."

"That's not wrong," Ford said delicately. "He's some sort of higher power."

"Like a god?" Stan asked skeptically.

"Like a dream demon," Ford corrected. "Though he might like to pretend to be the former. He seeks to use the portal, and now likely the rift, to open a bridge between our two dimensions. He wants to bring his friends over to destroy us all. He called it a party."

"You think this demon did this?"

On the one hand, Stan did feel a little bad for making Ford think a demon was plotting against him. But he might be plotting anyway and this way he was finally getting some damn answers.

"Probably not directly, no," Ford said. "Though perhaps. He has no physical form but he is surprisingly persuasive. And he can possess people if they offer consent."

Stan had a few questions about how Ford had met this Bill and how this had anything to do with the portal. But as long as he was blatantly lying about his role in literally pushing the world towards its end, he could let Ford skimp on the details.

It was probably enough Ford knew Bill was bad news _now_.

"You think this Bill guy is still around?" he asked instead.

"I haven't seen him in thirty years," Ford conceded. "I don't believe he ages as we do. I suppose something may have happened to him but if not then yes, I do believe he still intends to use the rift to destroy us. He's no stranger to the long con."

Now he was just _begging_ Stan to ask more. He valiantly resisted the urge. "So is there any way we can know for sure?"

Ford shook his head. "Not until he shows himself. We'll have to ask whoever it was that mentioned Bill to you about their experience with him. There may be something that can be done. I'll need to consult with my journals to be sure."

"Do you know where those are?" Stan asked. "I mean, assuming they're not still where you left them. Of course you can have the one you gave to me."

Ford reached into his jacket and took a journal from his overly large pockets. "I found the second one waiting for me in the basement."

"Did you now? At least you know where it is, then, even if you don't know who had it." And he probably wouldn't want to know anything about Gideon. "As for the third…I have a bit of a confession to make."

"What?" Ford asked, wariness returning to his tone.

"Dipper has that one. I borrowed it for a few days to skim through it to make sure there was nothing too bad in it, though in hindsight I probably should've gotten rid of that page about raising the dead. I don't know where he found it but he really loves that thing and he uses it mostly to keep himself safe from all the weird things around here. He gets in so much trouble. I really wouldn't feel safe letting him leave the house if he didn't have some sort of guidebook."

Ford narrowed his eyes. "Who is 'Dipper'?"

A broad smile crossed Stan's face. "This is the good part about being back, Stanford."

Ford raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Dipper is Shermie's grandson. He's twelve and as into all this weird crap as you ever were. He's smart and insecure but he's really growing into himself. He's got this twin sister, Mabel, who is bright and full of life. She's silly and good-hearted and just a little obsessed with getting a boyfriend now that she's almost a teenager. Kid has terrible luck but then maybe that's just Gravity Falls for you. They've been staying here with me this summer."

Ford's eyes softened. "I have a niece and nephew?"

Ford had already had a nephew before he went into the portal, not that he'd really kept in touch. But that kid was in his thirties now. It wasn't too late for Dipper and Mable. And they were _twins_.

Wordlessly, Stan passed over a framed picture of the two of them.

Ford smiled absently as he touched the picture. Despite his words, this was the first moment he really felt Ford meant it when he said he was glad to be back.

Stan gave him a moment.

Eventually, Ford put the frame back down. "Where are they?"

"Off getting ice cream or something, I don't know," Stan said dismissively. "I, uh, may not be the most responsible guardian. I wouldn't be surprised if they got back with tales of fighting a werepire or something."

"There's no such thing as a werepire, Stanley."

"You don't know that."

"Well it wouldn't be called that at any rate," Ford said.

"It would be if I named it," Stan insisted.

Ford just shook his head.

"They, uh, they don't know about you," Stan offered tentatively.

Ford frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I genuinely don't know if anyone told them they had two great-uncles once. It's never exactly come up. I couldn't just tell people you went into a mysterious portal maybe forever, now could I? I spent enough time being called loony," Stan said.

Ford nodded. "No, that makes sense. So what did you tell them? Why are you still here?"

If he remembered his brother right, and after forty years who even knew anymore, Ford wasn't trying to sound like he sincerely wanted Stan gone. He did, granted, but he didn't mean to. "See, this is probably going to make you mad."

Ford tensed. "Considering all the things you didn't think I should have gotten mad about, I almost don't want to know what you think I would be mad about."

"Please, Ford. You _never_ just don't want to know," Stan said. "And…this is big. But I had mostly pure intentions."

"You stole my house, didn't you?" Ford asked. "You've been here all this time."

"I didn't _steal_ it," Stan objected. "You didn't need it and bills had to be paid and I was a little homeless and desperate."

"I never gave it to you or even invited you to stay the night," Ford pointed out.

"I don't want to get into a logic argument," Stan said bluntly. "You're probably right here anyway. But all I know is that I needed it and it was there and you weren't."

" _That_ you defend," Ford noted. "Then what are you worried about?"

"I…did not have a legal right to be here. I couldn't explain what happened to you and Stanley Pines was barred from pretty much everywhere."

Ford just stared at him. "You didn't."

Stan winced. "Sorry?"

"You stole my name?" Ford shouted.

"Yes?"

"Do I have all these crimes under my name now?" Ford demanded.

"You may be on the no fly list. Among other things."

"How could you do this to me?"

"It wasn't like it was on purpose!" Stan objected. "And I never thought you'd come back after I couldn't get the portal working again. And I do have a plan to fix it."

Ford crossed his arms. "I would love to hear this."

"I can just explain that I, Stan Pines, am actually Stanley and I thought it really was about time I corrected the misunderstanding now that you're back from Canada or wherever. It's my right to torch my car and can I help it if people jumped to conclusions about me being dead? It's not like I made money off that or had life insurance or car insurance or anything. It'll be fine."

"It won't be fine," Ford argued. "That's still highly illegal."

"Ford, to live in a town like this that's so openly paranormal and to not believe in any of it, as most of the townsfolk do, it takes a special kind of doublethink. I once convinced local law enforcement that I had a doctor's permission to have a bear as a chauffeur. Literally this morning, they walked by and asked about the highly illegal fireworks I was openly shooting off with children. I called them lame or something and they just walked away. Trust me, I can revive Stanley Pines and transfer all my crimes back to me and you'll be good."

Ford was quiet for a moment. "And you think that makes it okay?"

"Well, yeah," Stan said, confused. Judging by the look on Ford's face, that was the wrong answer. "I mean, what's it matter? Everyone will know the truth, sort of, and it's not like me using your name stopped you from being able to use it."

"You had no right!"

"Okay, fine, whatever," Stan said. "I've never been great with all that abstract stuff. Tell me what practical difference it makes to you that I used your name."

"It's been thirty years, Stanley," Ford said bluntly.

"Yeah, I know, but that doesn't really answer the question. How does-"

"Everyone I've ever cared about had no idea what happened to me," Ford interrupted. "And no, of course I didn't expect you to tell them what really happened. But that I was missing? That I was dead, even? They deserved the chance to mourn me instead of mourning you. _I_ was the one lost, not you. You were just hiding up here pretending to be me. And you know what? I deserved to have the people I care about know that something had happened to me!"

What could he say?

He wanted to tell Ford that he wasn't just hiding away but trying desperately to bring him back, that he hadn't felt comfortable leaving the Shack for more than a week. But he knew that would only make the situation worse. Better to scapegoat the evil demon. But take that away and all you were left with was Stan wanting Ford's cushy lifestyle. And he did, of course he did, but not like that. Never like that.

"What?" Ford asked bitingly. "Nothing to say?"

"No," Stan admitted heavily. "Except that I never thought of it that way."

"Of course you didn't."

"No, I mean it," Stan said louder. "At first I was trying to save you so I needed to be able to stop running. I didn't think about what would happen if I succeeded. And by the time I gave up…well it was my life."

"Lucky you," Ford said coolly.

"I'm sorry," Stan said. "I've seen myself mourned a lot, you know. I never liked it. Part of it was being uncomfortable since I wasn't dead and all but some of it…"

"Yes?" Ford prompted.

"Over the years, everyone's gotten so fucking sympathetic. Suddenly I'm not the worthless failure anymore. Everyone focuses on how young I was when I was kicked out, how tragic that made my life. My senseless death. 'What did you expect, he was only seventeen.' I don't remember a damn ounce of concern when I was alive but, by all means, pity the dead. Dad actually cried at my funeral, you know that? I couldn't even look at him."

"It's hypocritical, I agree," Ford said after a moment. "I'd have likely cried at your funeral, too. But I was the one who deserved it and you took that."

"I can't change that," Stan said. "I'm sorry. You are right. I couldn't find a better option but, even if there wasn't one, you are right."

Ford appeared mollified by his apology. "What have you been doing for thirty years up here? I can't imagine you as a paranormal researcher."

Stan let out a startled laugh. "No. Definitely not. I've spent most of the time pretending I didn't know about any of this, to protect the kids and to keep out of sight of that stupid eye society."

"The Society of the Blind Eye? Are they still around?" Ford looked a little perturbed at the thought.

Stan shrugged. "They were. The kids and some friends of theirs and your old buddy McGucket took them out. They don't remember the society. Some weird tattoo guy didn't remember anything at all. The kids thought they screwed up but I have my own theories."

Ford looked strangely stricken. "Fiddleford. Is he…"

Stan thought he knew what he meant. "He's…not good, Ford. I don't know how bad it was when you last saw him but he's homeless. He doesn't remember anything that happened before I guess he erased his entire memory or used the gun one too many times or whatever happened. He's just…so fucking weird. The town isn't always…kind. Dipper said he seems like he might be doing a little better since he found some videos he made about the Society of the Blind Eye but that was less than two weeks ago."

Ford stared at his hands. "I…see."

"It's not your fault," Stan said firmly. "Whatever happened with you two, he's the one who chose to erase his memory and you weren't even here for the worst of it."

"That's just it, though," Ford said quietly. "I wasn't _here_."

That was a hard one. And largely Stan's own fault. "Well you're here now, at least?"

"He wouldn't remember me," Ford said.

"He might. He's starting to piece some things back together. And Dipper was all excited because apparently he worked with 'the author' so at least he knows that much."

"Even if he does remember me, he may not want to," Ford said. "It was my fault what happened."

Stan didn't know enough about what happened to deny that. And he didn't want to pick a fight. "Then make it up to him."

"I…might have to do just that," Ford said slowly.

"So what now?" Stan asked. "You're back, we don't know how, there's some triangle out to destroy the world using that rift…This is probably going to end badly."

"Probably," Ford agreed. "And there are children to think of. I can't believe I'm going to say this but…"

"But?" Stan asked hopefully.

"I'm going to regret this but I don't seem to have any better options and you do already know about this."

"You're not going to regret this," Stan insisted. "Whatever _it_ is."

"Yes, I will," Ford said. "But at least I know that going in. I'm going to need your help."

And despite all of it, despite the fact that Ford was still pointedly not happy about any of this and suspicious of him, despite the fact that now they were going to have to try and put off the apocalypse (because with the rift there it was not a question of if but when) as long as possible…despite all of that, Stan couldn't help smiling.

His brother was _back_ and, even if he couldn't take the credit because Ford insisted on looking at the bigger picture or whatever, it was all thanks to Stan.

This was a success, even if others wouldn't see it that way, and he refused to feel bad for it.

Ford was back and the kids would understand somehow and it was all going to work out.

After everything he'd been through, he wasn't about to let it turn out any differently.


End file.
